


What Dreams Are Made Of

by princesskay



Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s05e10 The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of, Episode: s06e03 Thank You Victoria, Episode: s06e04 A Thing I'll Never Understand, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-01 09:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: After her run-in with Chance Gilbert's sister-in-law, Vic doesn't feel safe in her own home, and calls Walt for reassurance. When Chance escapes prison, their night together changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _"My body was an ache, a silence. / It could not affirm how long it had waited for you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _— Stephen Dunn, from New and Selected Poems, 1974-1994; “The Waiting,”_

The silt of river water and mud washed away beneath the warm spray of the cramped RV’s shower, leaving behind only the anxious flicker in her belly as trace of what she’d done. The gun was with the proper authorities now, and all she could do was wait. 

Vic muttered a curse as she knocked an elbow against the shower wall. She could hardly enjoy the soothing warmth of the water and the feeling of being clean again with the walls closing in around her. Her encounter with Chance’s wife left behind prickling paranoia, the sense of being watched, of being followed. 

There had been a time when she’d felt safe in her own home. Before Chance. Before Ed Gorski. Perhaps there would always be someone lying in wait for her; that was the type of trouble she attracted. 

Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off while avoiding her haggard gaze in the mirror. Exhaustion plucked at her brain despite the hyperawareness that left her limbs buzzing with wasted energy. Sleep, she imagined, would be difficult to find tonight. 

As she dropped the towel to the floor, she glimpsed the purple bruise spreading across her skin. Her ribs were throbbing though she was doing her best to ignore it. 

_ “What if you’re having a miscarriage?”  _ Travis’s anxious question echoed through her head. 

_ So what if I am?  _

Vic pressed her eyes shut against the hot press of tears. She hadn’t meant to think it. She didn’t hate the child growing inside her, only the raw truths it forced her to face.

For one, she didn’t know who the father was - and part of her didn’t  _ want  _ to know. If it was Travis, she was bringing a child into a unstable situation where the father was sincere yet clueless. And if it was Eamonn … Well, she hadn’t heard from Eamonn since she visited him in the hospital when he’d gotten shot. 

Brushing aside her dour thoughts, Vic put on a tank top and sweatpants, and persuaded herself to look in the fridge for something to eat. She hadn’t eaten anything substantial since this morning, and it was only the anxiety keeping her from feeling the gnaw of hunger. 

Yanking open the mini-fridge, she saw the five cans of Rainier sitting against the back wall. She’d only opened one out of the six-pack, and she had poured that one down the drain after the results of the pregnancy test. She didn’t know what to do with the rest. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Vic grabbed the aluminum foil take-out container holding last night’s leftover Chipotle. 

She ate standing in front of the fridge, swallowing down cold lumps of rice and beans. She thought about sleeping, about dreaming and never waking up; or about waking up to find this side of existence was all a bad dream.

A clatter from outside the RV interrupted her solitary dinner. Heart pounding, she rushed to the window, and pulled the shade to one side. Her roaming gaze quickly located a young man across the lot, hoisting a heavy trash bag into the dumpster. 

“Christ.” Vic whispered, leaning heavily on the window frame. 

_ Get a grip, Moretti.  _

Retrieving her leftovers, she took another cold bite. As she chewed down the tasteless lump, her gaze wandered to her cell phone sitting on the counter. She had a few unanswered texts from Travis that she was ignoring, and one from Ferg, asking her some unimportant question about work. Neither was what she wanted. 

Grabbing her phone from the counter, she clicked into her contacts and gazed at Walt’s number. Her thumb hovered over his name, hesitating despite the crowding insistence in her brain that she just needed to hear his voice. Usually when he told her everything would be okay, she believed him. And God knew, she needed desperately to believe him right now. 

“Jesus.” She muttered to herself, setting the phone back down. 

_ Pathetic.  _

He was probably at home. Maybe he was with Donna. 

Vic pressed her eyes shut, battling the instant flash of anger at the thought of the psychiatrist. She’d bluntly told Donna what she thought of her, but it hadn’t made her feel any better. They were still together, and Vic was still on the outside looking in.

Vic snatched the phone, and stabbed the screen with her thumb. Pressing the phone to her ear, she listened to the line ring half a dozen times. There was a click before the voicemail picked up. 

_ This is Walt.  _

“Shit.” She whispered. 

She jerked the phone away from her ear when she realized the voicemail was recording her. 

“Vic, is that you?” 

She put the phone back to her ear, choking out his name, “Walt, hey … yeah, it’s me. Sorry it’s so late. I didn’t wake you up did I?” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

Vic nodded, more to urge herself to say something than to respond. She hadn’t planned out what she was going to say. She didn't know why she’d let jealousy instead of reassurance force her to make the call. 

“So, uh, was there something you needed?” Walt asked. 

“Yeah … no, I-”

“Are you okay?” True concern melted through his inflection, pouring relief into her frayed nerves. 

“No.” She whispered, letting out a weary sigh. “No, um, you were right the other day … when you told me I thought I would be fine … But I’m not.” 

“I told you not to worry about the press.” Walt said, “And Chance, he’s never getting out-”

“I know, I know. I just can’t stop thinking …. Feeling … I just- I just suddenly didn’t feel safe here, in my own home.” 

“Vic, I’m worried about you. This doesn’t sound like you.” 

Vic sniffed back the wave of tears, and cleared her throat. She thrust a casual tone into her voice. “So, are you home alone?” 

A beat of hesitation before he responded. “Yes.” 

“I have a six-pack of Rainier. Well, a five-pack now, but-”

“You want me to come over there? Now?” 

“Well, um …” Vic stammered, feeling heat rush to her face. “No, no, that was stupid. Of course not. It’s like eleven o’clock at night, and we both have work tomorrow, and-”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

Vic’s humiliated babbling froze in her throat. Dead silence hummed across the phone line; for a moment, she wondered if he’d just put the phone down, and walked out the door. 

“Vic?” 

“Yeah, I’m still here. Are you serious?” 

“As a heart attack.” 

“Okay …” She breathed out. 

This time, he had already hung up, and she was left listening to the dial tone. Vic stared at the timestamp of their phone call. In just a under a minute, she’d convinced her boss to come to her house in the middle of the night, and there wasn’t a trace of regret in her racing blood.  Some small part of her brain was screaming at her, demanding an explanation. The other part, the more primal, torn, and reckless part, was chanting encouragement that she’d finally done what she always wanted. 

Middle of the night. Beer. Pajamas. 

No work titles, no uniforms, no pretense. 

Maybe they would just sit here and drink, but she knew that’s not what either of them had meant on the phone. 

_ Are you home alone?  _

It didn’t sound like anything other than a proposition; if he somehow mistook it as otherwise, he was even more old-fashioned than she originally thought. 

For the next twenty minutes, she vacillated between gut-wrenching anxiety and jittery anticipation. She checked out the window every few minutes, searching for the Bronco rolling down the front lot of Chrysalis. 

When at last she saw headlights, her heart slammed against her ribcage, and ricocheted down into her belly. She paced the short length of the RV, her fists clenched at her sides. 

_ Act normal. Act normal.  _

She wasn’t quite sure what her normal was in Walt’s vicinity anymore, other than vibrating at such a sexually frustrated frequency it was nearly invisible; at this point, it was nearly an art form. 

When the knock on the door came, she rushed across the mobile home to open the lock. 

Walt stood on her doormat, his hands braced on his hips. Other than the absence of his gun and handcuffs, he was dressed as usual in jeans and a button-up denim shirt. 

“Hey.” Vic said, crossing her arms over her chest. She was suddenly acutely aware of how thin her tank-top was, and how responsive the skin beneath was to the evening breeze.  

“Vic.”

“I, uh, you didn't have to come here.” She said.  

“Yeah, I did.” 

She frowned as he crouched down, peering under the RV. 

“What are you doing?”

“Looking.” 

Straightening, he marched along the side of the mobile home, and disappeared around the corner. 

Vic stepped out onto the doormat barefoot, clenching her jaw against the cool breeze working itself beneath her tank top. 

“Walt?” 

He appeared from around the other side of the RV, and waved a hand for her to go back inside. 

“What was that for?” She asked, climbing the steps back inside. 

“You said you didn’t feel safe, so I was just checking. There’s no one here.” 

Vic huffed out a sound that was half sigh of relief, half embarrassed chuckle. 

“Well, um, thanks.” 

He nodded. Taking his hat off, he stepped past her. 

Vic pushed the door shut behind him as he wandered to the middle of the RV, his palm pressing down fly-away hairs. Her heart hammered. The RV felt much smaller with him inside of it, his shoulders hunch to avoid hitting his head off the ceiling. 

“So … you want a beer?” Vic asked. 

“Sure.” 

Vic fetched a can from the fridge as he sat down on the couch, heaving out a world-weary sigh. 

“So, it’s been a rough night for you too?” She asked, extending the beer to him. 

He cocked his head in resigned acknowledgement. Cracking open the beer, he took a long drink, and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“You could say that.” 

Vic sat down next to him, her legs curled underneath her. “You wanna talk about it?” 

“You first.” 

His smile was almost non-existent, but she could hear it in his voice. 

Vic lifted her chin.  _ I’m pregnant with another man’s child, but I think I might be in love with you.  _

“Nothing worth talking about, you know. Just the same old shit.” She said. 

He nodded, unconvinced. Taking another drink, he offered the beer to her. 

“No thanks. I, uh, already had one.” 

He balanced the can on his knee, and stared at it. 

Vic shifted, uncomfortably, acutely aware of the silence that descended on the RV. Her eyelids fluttered shut against a wave of shame. Why had she called him? Why did he come here? Maybe this was all a big mistake. 

“Donna and I …” 

His voice shattered the quiet, causing Vic’s heart to jolt in her chest. 

“We, uh, decided to go separate ways.” 

“Oh …  oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Vic said, forcing sincerity into her voice despite the twisted joy that surged through her chest. 

“It’s okay. We both just realized it wasn’t meant to happen.” 

“Still, that’s gotta hurt.” 

He shrugged. “It stings … a little.” 

Vic studied his profile. She’d known him long enough to tell the difference between introspection and sadness. Tonight was full of tears. Perhaps that was the only thing meant to be, or written in stone. 

“They deposed her.” Walt added, “For the lawsuit.” 

Vic swallowed, thickly. “That’s why you broke up?” 

“Well, you know what they were saying in those depositions.” He said, turning his head to meet her gaze. “That moment … between us.” 

“Oh my God.” Vic said, pressing a hand to her temple. “I’m so sorry, Walt. I never meant-”

“I don’t blame you.” 

“Well, obviously you should.” 

“I should thank you.” He said, “As much as I hate to say it, it put an end to the relationship before we went any further … and ended up hurting each other.” 

Their gazes clung to one another in silence for a long moment. 

Walt’s hand brushed her knee, leaving her skin tingling. 

“Let’s not talk about me.” He said, “I came here because I was worried about you.” 

“I was just a little … overwhelmed.” 

“With Chance?” 

“I, uh, yeah … You know, I thought I would stop thinking about it once I knew he was going to be locked up forever, but it’s not that easy.” 

“It never is.” 

“The whole thing … it makes me think about Sean.” 

Walt’s gaze focused in on his lap. He took a sip of the Rainier, and she saw his jaw clench. 

“Last year this time, I was still married. I was thinking about the future. I had a house … I guess I just look around at all this and wonder if I’m a failure.” 

“Vic, you’re not a failure.” 

Vic scoffed. “I wonder what my dad would think … God forbid, what my mom would think. Me, living in an RV by myself, sleeping with people I don’t even care about that much.” 

“Don’t think about what they would think.” 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

“It’s your life. You have to live it, not them.” 

“That sounds like great advice.” Vic said, uttering a low chuckle. “I should take it, I really should.” 

“You should.” He echoed, softly. 

Vic managed a smile despite the lump of emotion building in the back of her throat. His gaze had a way of making her feel worthy again; so blue and gentle like the cradle of the ocean. She could slip away in it, forget the shore. 

“We shouldn’t be here together.” She murmured, shifting against the couch to face him. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s against your own advice. You told me I should keep my distance with the lawsuit going on.” 

“I know, and I meant it.” 

“Did you? You came here pretty quick.” 

“You sounded like you needed …” The phrase trailed off as that last word rolled from his tongue. He cleared his throat, “Like you shouldn’t be alone.” 

“Yeah, I …” Vic said, drawing in a shaky breath, “I needed  _ something _ .” 

His gaze stretched on, the tide drawing her in as if propelled by magnetic force. She felt her body moving gradually toward him, but she wasn’t aware of telling herself to do so. Her shoulder drifted against his, and her hand to his knee. 

He didn’t move, like a statue - marble, cool, and solemn yet compelling, asking to be touched and caressed. 

Before she could reconsider, she pressed her mouth against his, recreating that moment in the hospital with the exception of oxygen tubes and the threat of death. And Donna. She had been afraid for his life then, and perhaps a little angry. Angry that he’d risked his life for someone else instead of her. That moment had been selfish, but this was one was desperate - one final grasp for real meaning in his life. She had to be honest now, or she would have nothing left. 

For a moment that seemed an eternity, he didn’t respond. 

Vic pulled back, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. Disbelief at her own rash actions surged through her brain. The fire in her racing heart and burning cheeks was compounded by his gaze bearing down on the side of her face. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean forward to set the beer can on the floor. He turned to face her, his palm grazing her knee. 

She forced herself to look up, feeling herself crumbling and fragmenting beneath his swallowing gaze. Her knuckles slipped away from her mouth, and fell limply into her lap. 

His hand rose from her knee to her cheek, thumb brushing against her chin. 

Vic drew in a raspy breath as his fingers curled beneath her ear and against her nape. Seconds blurred into a cocktail of thudding adrenaline, delicate sensation, and tingling skin. Her mind was still trying to accept this moment as reality even as he dragged her purposefully to him, and sealed his mouth across hers. 

Her fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, finding solid flesh and bone, not fantasy. The hot, wet pressure of his mouth against hers, the faint taste of Rainier mixing with the aftertaste of his tongue, the scrape of stubble against her lips and chin - all real, all an exhilarating justification to her arduous days of longing. 

His other hand wandered up her ribs, and she concealed a whimper of pain behind a moan of pleasure. The half-second of pain disappeared into satisfaction when the broad, firm grasp of his palm closed around her breast. The thin cotton of her tank top offered a slim barrier between their skin; her swelling nipple felt every push and tug, leaving her breathless, and her skin humming with need. 

Vic moaned as their mouths separated, both of them gasping. 

“Vic …” he panted, his tone bordering somewhere between pain and pleasure, “... we should take my advice.” 

“You can’t say that now.” She replied, grasping the front of his shirt to keep him from pulling back. “You can’t unring that bell.” 

“We did. Once.” 

“ _ I  _ kissed  _ you _ .  _ You  _ just kissed  _ me _ . You can’t take that back.” 

“But it probably isn’t a good idea.” 

“I haven’t had a good idea in ages.” She murmured, a rueful smile tugging at her mouth. 

She pushed another kiss against his lips, emboldened by the pleasure she’d glimpsed in his eyes. 

There was a faint shudder in his limbs before he leaned into her, his mouth moving hungry and coarse against hers. Clutching her cheek, he guided her back against the arm of the couch.

Vic uncurled her legs, and he shifted between them, letting the full weight of his hips bear down on hers. She could feel the gradual throb of his growing arousal trapped between them, pushing against her own swelling ache. 

His fingers fluttered against her temple as he drew back, his breaths hot and heavy against her cheeks. Their gazes collided just inches apart, unspoken desire pulsing back and forth like an private radio signal.

“Did you plan this?” He whispered, the husky quality of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. 

“Did you?” 

“No.” 

“Neither did I. I kind of just realized it when you walked in the door. Not that I haven’t been thinking about it for …  _ years _ .” 

His lips compressed at the remark. He lowered his forehead against her cheek, and shifted his weight against her. She pressed her eyes shut as the minor movement caused his erection to grind against her. 

“Vic …” The sound of his voice forming her name was nearly inaudible, but she could hear the nuance of guilt, and resignation.

“Walt.” She cradled his cheek, bringing his gaze back up to hers. “I’m not sorry.” 

“I am.” He murmured, his thumb stroking back and forth against her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.” 

Vic’s eyelids fluttered, the heat of emotion and need rushing to her face like a tide. It was like water in the desert, hearing those words come from his mouth; knowing that her wanting and dreaming hadn’t all been in vain, realizing he’d felt the same way all this time. 

His mouth crushed hers in another rapturous kiss, passion burning through his skin and into hers. His fingers holding her cheek pushed her jaw up, guiding her throat open as his mouth separated from hers to leave a damp trail down to her neck. 

She stretched her throat open to the wandering caress, a low whimper rising from deep in her chest at the thrill of satisfaction. 

Sliding both hands up his chest, she found the top button, and pulled. The snap popped free, echoing loud in quiet of the RV. 

His mouth moved hotter against her neck, and she tugged at the next button, delving her fingers in to feel his chest heaving against her fingertips. She worked her hand down against the rest of the buttons, applying just enough pressure to pop them free until the shirt was hanging open, her fingers questing against bare skin. His ribs expanded with a shuddering breath beneath her caress, expelling a soft groan that pricked pleasure through her core. 

Her own whimper wound from her throat as his teeth scraped gently at her shoulder. His fingers hooked beneath the shoulder of her tank top, and pulled the fabric away with a tug. She gasped as her breast spilled free, and his mouth rushed in to claim the tender, hardened tip.

The wet, decadent pressure of his lips around her nipple sent arousal surging through her belly. Moaning, she arched against him, into the rigid weight of his erection, and laced her fingers through his hair. 

His mouth slid away, replaced by the firm drag of his thumb. His breath spilled hot across her chest, even, controlled breaths making his hunched shoulders rise and fall. 

Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her again. There was a tangible shift in the atmosphere, like the pressure dropping before a thunderstorm. The minimal space between charged with the building current of need. 

Wordlessly, he skimmed hands down the expanding ridges of her ribs until his fingers caught on the waistband of her sweatpants. With a gentle, tug, the loose fabric slid from her hips. 

Hardly breathing, Vic lifted her hips to allow the sweatpants out from underneath her. She hadn’t bothered to put on underwear after getting out of the shower. She hadn’t thought he would be here tonight, seeing her like this; she hadn’t thought he would ever see her, but here he was, and there she lay, aching and melting beneath his attentive gaze. 

As the pants left her ankles, Vic held her quivering knees together. Her body was throbbing a rhythm destined for pleasure, the force of which almost scared her. She felt like glass, liable to break the moment he touched her. 

Still, when his fingers did brush against her knees, she did not shatter; only some deep, concealed wall inside her finally broke free, admitting a flood. All those pent up thoughts, her desires, her frustrations, her needs came rushing at her. The lies she’d told herself - and him - were no longer reasonable. 

His name choked at the back of her throat, a small, withering protest, as he plied her legs open. She clutched at the couch cushions as he shifted closer, his head turning to plant a kiss against the inside of her left knee. The kiss simmered there for a long moment before traveling downward, following a straight, determined line down her inner thigh. 

Her mouth sank open, a silent moan straining on her tongue. The pulse between her legs escalated; she could feel the heat roiling, turning to a dull, persistent ache. The edge loomed near, yet he’d barely touched her - and she could hardly persuade herself to think beyond the white flash of pleasure blanketing her brain what would happen when he applied every amenable ministration he was capable of. 

Vic bit at her lower lip as his mouth paused at the join of her thigh. The cloud of his breath washed hot over her aching center, and she arched against him, involuntarily. The desperate motion of her hips pushed her skin against his, forcing him to lean back. 

The broad, strong grasp of his hands curled around her hips, pinning her to the couch. When she went still, he moved his palm up the back of her thigh, pushing her leg up against her chest. 

A moan jumped from her throat, barely clearing her lips before the next one came - this one twisted free by the wet, blissful press of his tongue against her swollen center. 

Vic’s eyes slammed shut, light swimming against the darkness of her eyelids as arousal rushed like wildfire through her body. Her own high-pitched moans were muffled by the thudding of her heartbeat, the rush of adrenaline and pleasure in her ears. 

Everything was hot and bright and hypersensitive. She could feel everything - the swirling pattern of his tongue around her clit, the faint scrape of stubble, the brush of his hands against her thighs, her own lungs aching to find a proper breath. Each moment was its own, thousands of hours of thought and fantasy cramming themselves into seconds. Her brain was already memorizing each one, latching into the sensation like a starving person. 

She grabbed onto the couch cushions, her knuckles blanching white with the brute force of her grasp. The coiling sensation of pleasure was already heavy in her belly, every revolution of his tongue dragging her closer and closer to the ebbing and flowing tide of climax. She wavered there on the edge, aching for the impending pleasure, yet drifting on the outside edge where reality had not yet been eclipsed. 

Her desperate gaze roamed from the ceiling, just brave enough in the haze of arousal to look down and see him unraveling her splayed, shuddering body. Her legs were stretched open, one bolted to the floor, the other flailing upright against her chest, pinned by his hand against the back of her knee. 

She glimpsed the rosy red of her flesh, glazed with need and saliva as his head moved back for half a second. The respite was brief, yet torturous, and she whined, arching toward the warm caress of his mouth. When his tongue returned it’s divine pressure against her clitoris, her eyes rolled back into the black abyss of her spiraling head, losing the visual of her pleasure. 

The pleasure came roaring towards her, a stampede, an avalanche. The ache sharpened to the knife’s point of climax, so vivid it was nearly painful. She could feel herself slipping away into the rip tide of pleasure with a force she hadn’t experienced in a long time. 

“Oh my God!”

The cry jolted from her lips and died as the orgasm rose up to swallow her. Rifts of pleasure tore through her middle, leaving her heaving and writhing against the persistent pressure of his tongue. Every fiber pulsated with satisfaction; she could feel herself vibrating to the core, pieces that she’d hidden away splintering free. Her fingers twisted in his hair, pushing and pulling against the sweet torture of heightened pleasure until the spasms died away into rippling aftershocks. 

She sank against the couch, breathing heavily. Her eyes cracked open to see the furnishings of her mobile home, unchanged despite the sudden turn of events. 

His hand retreated, allowing her leg to fall away from her chest. Her body hummed, and her mind drifted in a cloudy haze of pleasure. She couldn’t remember why she’d asked him to come here, only that it had come to this moment, and that she wasn’t dreaming. 

His head rose from between her legs. Rubbing the edge of his sleeve across his mouth, he trained his gaze on her wide-eyed expression. Determination simmered like a billowing storm, the distant crackle of lightning, the buffet of rain-heavy wind. 

He rose from his kneeling position beside the couch, towering over her. 

Vic swallowed back the saliva pooling on her tongue. She shifted upright against the couch, and reached out to hook her fingers on his belt. With a tug, she pulled him closer. 

Their gazes locked in a silent resolution as she worked the belt open, and dragged the zipper of his jeans open. The fabric drifted open, revealing his erection stiff against the confines of his boxers. 

Vic slid her fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and dragged the heated cotton back. 

A shudder rippled through his stomach, and a low groan spilled into the quiet of the RV. His cock pulsed as she pulled the fabric away, freeing the hard, dusky length. 

Licking her lips, Vic leaned forward. Her eyes were trained on her as she wrapped her lips around the head. She went down slowly, savoring every hot, sweet inch. 

A guttural moan of pleasure jolted from his lips. His shaking hand flew down to grip her hair, knuckles locking taut against her skull. The vicious grasp served only to fan the flames of desire, and temper the courage surging through her chest. 

She sucked him down greedily, savoring each throb, every moan, and the hint of salt at the back of her tongue. When he was swaying sufficiently against her, she pulled back, allowing him to slide free of the suction of her mouth with a wet pop. 

His eyes fluttered open, a shuddering breath lifting his chest as if he had just transitioned back into this universe. 

Vic pulled him back down between her knees, pressing a hasty kiss to his mouth. She wiggled to the edge of the couch, urging her wet center against his pulsing cock. 

His fingers clutched her bare hips with bruising strength. 

“Vic, wait …” 

“What?” She whispered. 

“Shouldn’t we …?” 

“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill.” 

The concern in his eyes lingered for half a moment before he chose to trust her. 

It was a lie, but close enough to the truth. She pushed the pregnancy to the back of her mind as he crawled overtop her, his weight bearing her down against the cushions, his cock sliding fully into her wet, swollen body. The pleasure ushered away the last of her concerns. She moaned in delight as he rocked against her, their bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. 

He was purposeful, each thrust hitting deep and pausing there to savor the sensation before drawing back, leaving her achingly empty, and coming again. She clutched onto his shoulders, allowing her mind to slip away into blissful emptiness, her body to fuse and melt into his. They were like two independent elements, amalgamating in a moment of harmony; she wasn’t quite sure how they would look once they separated again, but right now, this peace she felt was all she wanted to think about. She’d been looking for this serenity for so long; it felt only fair that she could be selfish with her little portion of it for one night. 

 

~

 

Vic’s insides still felt like hot caramel, but she was coming back to her senses. 

They sat on the couch together, his hand on her knee, her head on his shoulder. They hadn’t said more than five words in the past fifteen minutes, but she could feel it coming - the dreadful reality. 

“I slept with Eamonn.” She whispered, “And Travis.” 

She heard him swallow, but he didn’t reply. 

Vic lifted her head from his shoulder, biting her lower lip before asking the question she was burning to know the answer to. “Did you sleep with Donna?” 

Not meeting her inquiring gaze, he shook his head. “No.” 

Vic blinked. Surprise and relief came first, then guilt. “Wow, you must think this is just the usual for me.” 

“No, I don’t.” He snapped out of his vacant reverie to pin her with a insistant gaze.  

“I really care about you, Walt. This isn’t just something that happened that-”

“Vic.” 

She swallowed back the rest of the sentence. 

“You don’t have to convince me of your feelings.” He said, softly. 

She nodded. “Okay, good. Maybe you could tell me yours?” 

He drew in a deep breath. “I care about you too, Vic. I wanted to keep you safe from everything that’s happening right now, and that’s why I said you should stay away. We seem to have accomplished the opposite.” 

“I don’t know if your case and our feelings are entirely related-”

“They are. You’re my deputy, my friend, my …” He stopped short, and she wondered what he was thinking of calling her. Instead he pressed on, his brows furrowed. “Whatever happens to me, happens to you. I can’t let you be dragged down with me.” 

He rose from the couch, grabbing his hat from the counter. 

“So, what this was all just a big mistake?” Vic demanded. 

“Believe me,” He said, holding up a hand to stop her anger, “ _ Believe me _ , I don’t want anything more than this right here … but I don’t think this is the right time.” 

“When will it be right?” Vic asked, jumping up from the couch. “Because I have been waiting for two damn years. I waited out Lizzie, I waited out, Donna, I waited out  _ Martha _ .” 

Silence filled the mobile home as the dead woman’s name hissed viciously from Vic’s mouth. Instant regret filled her chest, but she couldn’t take it back. 

He looked angry for only a moment before that shadow was swallowed by a resigned, perpetual weariness. 

“And I’m asking you to wait a little longer.” He said, “I can’t be here the way I should. Not with the case, and Nighthorse, and work. I cannot pretend to give you something that I’m not capable of. You don’t deserve it.” 

Vic gazed at him, fighting tears until she crumbled. 

He dragged her into a tight embrace as a tear spilled down her cheek. She swallowed back the emotion, desperate to capture it back into its compartmentalized boxes. She couldn’t fall apart like this; not now, not in front of him. 

She pulled back, swiping a tear from her cheek. “I’m fine.” 

His fingers brushed her cheek, turning her face into a gentle kiss. She barely had a chance to savor the pressure of his mouth before he withdrew. 

“It’s late.” He murmured, “You should get some sleep.” 

She nodded, managing a thin smile. 

“It’s not a good idea making decisions this big this late at night.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

They shared a brief, resigned gaze before Walt turned to leave. 

“See you tomorrow.” She whispered. 

When she was alone, listening to the rumble of the Bronco driving away, she sank to the couch in a motionless heap. Confused and aching for something more, she drifted to sleep with the impression of his fingers lingering and burning on her skin. 

 

~

 

By the time Vic made it into work the next day, Walt was already out of the office. She doubted she would see him again until later; these days, when the door shut behind him, he was routinely gone until sundown, returning to the confines of his office only when the world he had beaten him back into retreat. 

She couldn’t complain. Her own absences were becoming more and more frequent. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to cover the pregnancy. The thought of having to tell anyone, but especially him, made her stomach churn. 

Despite her best efforts to focus on work, her mind continued to stray into the events of the previous night. Sensation, rather than shape or sound, plagued her thoughts. The words they’d spoken were a muddled mess, but the feelings, the touches, the kisses, the pleasure was enough to transport her out of reality - and when she did come back to the present, it was a hard, bruising fall, weighted with the reminder of how that night had ended. 

_ I can’t be here for you right now.  _

It hurt, but no more than she could handle. At least, that’s what she told herself. 

That evening, as the shadows were chasing away the light, Ferg and Ruby said their goodbyes while Vic and Walt stayed behind. Vic looked absently over paperwork with only the lamp to illuminate the paper. 

The office was utterly quiet. She only knew Walt was still here because she hadn’t seen him, or heard his exit through the private door in his office. 

She thought about going into the office, shutting the door, and giving him a piece of her mind. Or offering her body again, since he hadn’t argued too stiffly the first time. 

Vic drew in a deep breath as she pulled the photograph of her ultrasound out of her jacket pocket. The black and gray blobs barely resembled a tiny human, but it was empirical evidence that she was carrying life inside her. 

The guilt she’d been tamping down since last night resurfaced with a vengeance. 

She was pregnant, carrying another man’s child - which man, she didn’t know - and she’d just slept with yet another man who didn’t even know about the baby. And this little picture was all she needed to remind herself that she didn’t know where she had taken a wrong turn, but she was lost. Lost as hell. 

Discarding the idea of going into Walt’s office, Vic jumped up from her desk and marched out of the Sheriff’s station. She got into her truck, and drove off down the road, no particular direction in mind. Her fingers grasped the steering wheel tightly as she sped down the dark roads, lit only by the stars and moon. 

_ It’s okay.  _ She thought, recalling Walt’s thin reasoning.  _ You know what? I can wait. It’s okay because my life is a mess, and you don't even know it. You think you’re pulling me down with you - well, maybe it’s the other way around.  _

Vic didn’t stop driving until she reached the rest stop several miles out of town. She sat at one of the picnic tables until it was truly dark, the night encroaching on her like some limbless mass. Breathing in the cool night air, she pulled the picture back out of pocket. In the darkness, she couldn’t make out the image, but she gripped the glossy paper against her sweaty palm. 

_ Looks like it’s just you and me.  _ She thought. 

The evening answered, trees shifting and rustling in the wind, crickets chirping from their leafy perches. The life inside her was silent, unable to reply; a silent witness only. Only time would tell what other quiet trespasses it would view from within it’s impressionable host.  


	2. Chapter 2

**1 month later**

 

Wind echoed through the open windows of the Bronco, tugging hair free at Vic’s temples. The loose sleeves of the dress she’d worn for court fluttered against her shoulders. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, plumping her breasts against the diving neckline of the dress. 

She looked good. Better than good. 

Walt hadn’t gotten a chance to tell her before circumstances made it utterly wrong to do so. When she’d walked into the courthouse this morning, he’d just stared like an idiot instead of complimenting her. Now Chance Gilbert was on the loose, and her appearance was the last thing he should be thinking about. 

“We’re gonna catch him.” He said, interrupting the stoic silence. 

Vic’s jaw clenched. Her face was turned toward the window, angry gaze bolting flames at the passing landscape. 

“I promise.” He added. 

As a member of law enforcement for nearly two decades, he knew he shouldn’t be making promises he wasn’t absolutely sure he could keep, but he needed to reassure her. He didn’t like how that distant, glassy look in her eyes was so cut off and unreachable to him. How her rigid posture indicated she didn’t want to be touched, or consoled, even from a distance. 

Walt gripped the steering wheel tighter as he brought the vehicle around a sharp bend in the winding back road. Sunlight poured through the canopy of trees, dappling the pavement with patches of sunlight. Up ahead, the sign for the Chrysalis trailer park loomed like a cheerful signpost of conflicted memory. 

The last time he’d driven here, it had been the middle of the night. He’d spent the drive from his cabin to Vic’s RV wrestling with desires so woven into his chest that he couldn’t argue with the logic or morality of denying them any longer. No matter which way he tried to squint at that night, he knew he’d driven here with every intention of finally acting on his feelings toward her. And while the circumstances around them might have changed a great deal since that night, Walt couldn’t help but feel his chest ache with that same, piercing need. 

Walt parked the Bronco in front of the RV, and shut off the engine. 

The moment the truck was still, Vic ripped her seatbelt off, and shoved her shoulder into the door. Walt followed her out of the truck at a slower pace, his boots scuffing the gravel in the wake of her hasty footsteps. 

Twisting the key in the door’s lock, Vic cast a squinted gaze over her shoulder. 

“You don’t have to come in.” She said, “I’m just throwing on my uniform, and I’ll be right out.” 

“Right.” 

He took a step back as she yanked the door open. 

Vic paused at the top step when she noticed his defensive stance, and his gaze scrutinizing the trailer park. 

“What? You think something is going to happen here, in broad daylight?” 

“It just did. At the courthouse.” 

“Chance just escaped death row. I don’t think he’s interested in me.” 

“I don’t know what he’s thinking.” 

Vic sighed, and ducked into the RV. 

“Fine.” She called over her shoulder. “If you’re gonna stand guard, just come in.” 

Walt took one last look around the trailer park before climbing up into the RV. He pushed the door shut behind him, and stood in the middle of the cramped living space with the prickle of  sweat lining his spine. He took off his hat, and turned the felt brim around in his hands. 

A quick glance at the couch afforded him a flash of white-hot memory, bursting with color, sound, and taste. Her breathless moans echoed through his brain, and the sweet tang of her arousal trickled like a ghost at the tip of his tongue. 

The sound of Vic yanking her uniform from the hanger jolted him back to the reality. 

Striding toward the back of the RV where the tiny bathroom offered the only privacy, Vic’s shifted past him, her chest brushing up against him. In that brief moment, he could smell the lavender shampoo, and the hint of perfume. Those scents were etched into his memory by frequent thought and idle fantasy; and they were like the finger on an unsuspecting trigger, the firing pin to primal need. 

Before he could stop himself, his fingers looped around her elbow, and brought her to a halt against him. 

“Vic …” 

One hand clutched her uniform while the other pressed into his chest. The steel in her gaze wavered as she looked up at him. 

“What?” She whispered. 

“A madman is on the loose. We know how he feels about you. We know what he’s capable of. Now, I’m about to take you out into the field in search of him, and I just need to know …” His voice trailed off as the ridiculousness of what he was about to say struck him. Still, he said it, because it was the only thing he could say. “... I need to know that you’re okay.” 

She scoffed quietly, her gaze darting away from his as a sheen tears doused the golden flame in her eyes. 

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed back the emotion. Tendons strained beneath a faint blush of angry pink, and her chest swelled with a sharp breath. He could almost see the cracks in her defenses, the fractures written into her tender skin like spiderwebs in glass. 

The desire to hold her and press his mouth into her skin was abruptly overwhelming. He’d been holding the tide back for the past several weeks without a single failure, and he hated that it was Gilbert who laid the devastating blow to his self-control. It was easier to believe it was the closed space of the RV that made their proximity, and it’s magnetic pull, unavoidable. 

Clutching her cheek, Walt turned Vic’s face toward him, and pressed his mouth to hers. 

A surprised yelp jumped from her throat, but was muffled in the ardent kiss. Her uniform dropped to the floor as she reached up to grasp his chest with both hands. 

Her mouth twisted away from his with a shuddering exhale. Her fists remained stiffly wound around the collar of his shirt, but her head was tilted down, hiding whatever truth rested in her eyes. 

His hand rested leaden against her hip, unable to disconnect despite the sudden hyper-awareness of what he’d just done. His lips burned faintly, the taste of her mouth lingering on his skin. 

“I’m sorry …” He began, choking on the words. 

He  _ was  _ sorry, just not sorry about the kiss. He couldn’t stop thinking about Travis’s ultimatum, the ring, the baby, and the idea that she was farther away from him than she’d ever been. This jealous need to have her to himself didn’t fit with narrative he’d fed her about all the reasons why they couldn’t be together - for that, he was sorry; but his body, his lips still tasting her, his hands still grasping her hips, could not apologize for this desperate moment. 

Vic’s lips compressed, and her nostrils flared in a deep breath. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” She said. Her palms pushed off his chest, putting a few inches of space between them. 

“I know.” 

“He’s getting away.” Vic said, “We should be out there, looking for him.” 

“You’re right. I was out of line-” 

Before he could complete his penitence, Vic’s fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth crushed against his, silencing whatever empty apologies might have followed, and snapping the ties that remained of his control. 

He dropped his hat to the floor to grasp her waist with both hands, pulling her taut against him. She rose up on her toes, and pushed into his winding embrace. A soft groan vibrated from her mouth to his, fanning the fire of need growing his chest. 

His palms moved up her back, feeling her warm body curve and tremble against his caress. When he reached the back of her neck, he slid his fingers into the hair at her nape, and pulled her head back gently. Her throat opened to the eager surge of his mouth, moans humming beneath the hot press of his lips. 

Keeping one arm around her waist, he pushed her back against the counter. His mouth had run the course of her neck, down and back up again, and now nuzzled against her earlobe. He breathed heavily into the tender crook below her jaw, his tongue swirling up to meet her ear. 

Her breaths rushed swift and hot against his cheek as she lifted one leg up around his waist. The hem of her dress slid up against her hip, leaving her thigh bare. 

Walt leaned back to find her mouth again, kissing her slower this time while his hand moved down her bare leg and beneath the bunched fabric of her dress. Her lips curled against his in a needy hiss as he gripped her backside, and lifted her up onto the counter. 

Urging her mouth harder against his languid kiss, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and locked her ankles against the small of his back. With a decisive tug, she yanked the snaps of his shirt open, and slid her palms across his chest and over his shoulders. 

The steady baseline of need drumming through his middle spiked hot and uncontrollable. The encounter was quickly unraveling from one moment of concern for her safety, to a desperate grasp for intimacy, to real, tangible arousal. The desire he’d been keeping in check for the past few weeks exploded with a burning, aching tempo that throbbed through every fiber, right to down to his core. 

His body moved without conscious direction, hands pushing at her dress to find bare skin, hips rocking into the cradle of her clenched thighs, mouth taking hers hard enough to leave a mark. And she was right in the chaos with him, her moans growing higher and louder with every brusque caress. 

The zipper on the back of her dress parted to his impatient tug, fabric wilting away from her shoulders.  His mouth blazed across the freshly bared skin, nudging away the strap of her bra out of the way. He yanked the remaining fabric away, and claimed her breast in the calloused grasp of his palm. 

Her nipple perked up hard against his grip, and he dragged his thumb hard across it. 

Vic’s gasp tore their mouths apart. Her mouth lifted from his, allowing him to draw in a full, cold lungful of air. With that breath came reality, and the brazen prominence of his hand on her breast. 

Slowly, he lifted his head to see her gazing down at him, the look in her eyes caught somewhere between need and disbelief. Her chest rose and fell heavily against the weight of his hand. 

This was the moment he paused, but decided to go on the last time. This was the moment he had warned they should follow his advice, and she had all but begged him not to stop. 

This time, she was quiet; and in that silence, he could hear the heave and grind of consequence, the tiny whispers of truth echoing from beyond the haze of desire. 

Walt’s hand slid from her breast, and strayed against her belly.  Travis’s voice echoed through his brain.  _ She’s pregnant.  _

“Shit.” Vic whispered. 

She pulled her bra back into place, and clutched the wilting dress to her chest. 

Walt braced both hands on the counter, trying to gather up his fallen apology - at the very least, his discretion. 

“Let me up.” She whispered. 

He stood back from the counter, allowing her to slide down. 

“Vic.” 

“No, I’m sorry, it’s my fault.” She said, waving a hand before he could issue an apology. “I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking; this whole thing has me all mixed up, I’m just so-”

“ _ Vic. _ ” 

She stopped, gazing at him with watery eyes. 

He pulled the front of his shirt together, suddenly self-conscious with her blunt gaze of anger and confusion bearing down on him. 

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” He said, “We should get out there, stay focused on catching Chance.”

Swallowing hard, she nodded, and bent to retrieve her uniform. She brushed past him to the back of the RV, and shut the door firmly behind her. 

When he was alone, Walt leaned against the counter, and let out a weary exhale. The brief flush of adrenaline was already fading, the need retreating back into its safe, dark places in the far reaches of his mind. 

Like Vic, he didn’t know what the hell he’d been thinking. When Travis showed up the office with a ring and a demand, he’d struggled to not feel guilty for sleeping with Vic while she was pregnant with another man’s child. That was on her for not telling him. But this moment - this lapse of judgment and rational - was his own burden to carry. Until Vic decided what do about her baby, or at the very least tell him about it, he shouldn’t feel right wanting her the way that he did. 

 

~

 

The search dragged on into the afternoon. When Walt decided that they should hand over the search to the marshals and head back to the office, the sun had already reached its peak and began its descent down the other side of the sky. 

Vic protested, but Walt’s decision was final. 

She rode in the passenger’s seat of the Bronco, keeping her gaze focused on the flat, unchanging landscape that sped by along the route back into town. The search had kept her mind occupied, but now that they were alone again, her brain kept recycling that brief, heated exchange in the RV through her memory like an endless reel of film. The only distraction that could shake it loose was the thought of Chance still being out there, and focusing on that fact was just as distressing. 

Back at the Sheriff’s station, Ferg was waiting in Walt’s office with Bob Barnes. 

While Vic waited on hold to talk to the warden, she peered at the closed door of Walt’s office. Somehow, Bob was always in the wrong place at the wrong time, but at least he wasn’t stupid enough to actively put himself in dangerous situations. He didn’t willingly give a maniac the tools he needed to escape prison. 

Vic swallowed back bitter self-disgust when the warden’s assistant picked the phone back up to tell her he wasn’t available. 

Bob was just leaving out the private door as she went in to give Walt an update. 

“I left a message for the warden at Tri-County. His secretary says he’s tied up with the Feds, so …” 

“All right. Then talk to the guards. I want to know how Chance got that gun.”  Walt said, rounding the corner of the desk to pick up the bowtie Bob had left behind. 

“Rudolph and Eubell are on the way.” Ferg said. 

“Good. In the meantime, talk to the FBI. Ask them to help you get a subpoena for the, um … the IP address of the computer that posted the Craigslist ad.” Walt instructed. 

“On it.” Ferg said. 

Ferg strode back out into the bullpen, leaving Vic to gaze helplessly at Walt. She could feel the tears swelling in the back of her throat, the dizzying panic making it difficult to breathe. 

“It has been  _ hours _ since he got away.” She said, her voice shaking. “We are losing the scent. He could be halfway to Canada by now.” 

She turned her back on Walt’s worried gaze, and escaped into the bathroom just as the tide of horror and dread overwhelmed her. She slammed the door behind her, clutching a hand to her chest as if one savage grip could give her the breath she needed not to panic. 

Leaning over the sink, she turned on the faucet to cover the sound of her gulping breaths. Tears throbbed against her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall. She’d cried enough over Chance Gilbert; she just needed a moment - just one to collect herself, and go on. 

Vic startled when the door of the Reading Room swung inward. Walt slipped inside, easing the door shut behind him. 

Fingers locked around the edge of the sink, she met his gaze via the mirror. 

“When I asked if you were okay to be in the field I wanted an honest answer.” He said. 

“I’m fine.” 

Vic ignored the skeptical look in his eyes, and bent to splash cold water on her flushed cheeks. 

“You expect me to believe that?” 

Vic straightened, and yanked a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. As she wiped the moisture from her cheeks, she avoided his piercing gaze. 

“ _ Vic _ .” He said, firmly. 

“I hear you.” 

“We haven’t talked about what happened because I know you don’t want to.” Walt said, “But that man  _ beat  _ you. He held you captive, and he tried to kill you.” 

“I know. I was there.” Vic said, tossed the paper towels forcefully into the trash can. 

“It’s okay to not feel okay. I just need you to tell me if you don’t.” 

“What are you, my therapist?” Vic demanded, whirling around to glare up at him. “If that’s what you were really  _ asking  _ me earlier, then why did I wind up halfway undressed?” 

His mouth pursed into a thin line, and his gaze held hers tenuously. 

“No.” He said, at length. “I’m not your therapist. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

Vic blew out a frustrated sigh, and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. 

“Yeah, and I shouldn’t need you the way that I do.” 

He blinked, absorbing her hasty response in alarmed silence. 

“But, Christ, I do.” She added, her voice a harsh whisper from between clenched teeth. “And I can live with that. God knows I have lived with it for  _ years _ . But what I can’t live with is  _ this _ .” 

“This?” 

“ _ This _ .” Vic repeated, waving a hand between them. “You wanna be the most important person in my life, but I can’t be yours? I mean, how do you explain to yourself that we went farther together than you ever did with Donna - your  _ girlfriend _ ?” 

“I’m not trying to be the most important person in your life. I’m your boss, and I am responsible for you. I have to make sure you’re suitable to work in the field.” 

“As if that has stopped you before.” Vic scoffed. 

He frowned, his gaze questioning the bitter remark. 

“ _ Branch _ .” Vic supplied. “He walked into this office a week after getting shot, and you didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. I am physically fit, and ready to go. And I’m sure as hell not hallucinating and chasing after ghosts.” 

Walt lowered his head, his hands bracing against his hips. “And I paid for those mistakes.” 

“But you couldn’t have been persuaded to care until now ... I have been here for you for the past several weeks. Supporting you, believing you,  _ defending  _ you.” Vic said, crossing her arms tightly. “I didn’t even tell anyone when you drove a complete stranger - an  _ innocent _ stranger - off the road thinking he was Malachi. And I have spent those weeks thinking about nothing but you …” Vic’s voice dropped to a shaky whisper, “... and me.” 

Bitter disappointment overtook her anger, the burn of tears replacing the enraged burn in her chest. She leaned back against the sink, pressing her fingertips against her tear ducts. 

“And you …” She choked out, swinging a limp finger in his direction. “... you have been so occupied with the lawsuit, and Nighthorse, you don’t even see anything else - not until you  _ want to. _ ” 

“Vic …” Her name broke his silence, formed in a husky whisper. 

She swallowed back the swell of tears, and lifted her chin defiantly. 

“Like I said, I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He said, holding up a resigned hand, “I shouldn’t have set foot inside your RV. What you’re saying right now is exactly why I ended that night the way I did.” 

He held her gaze for a long moment before he reached for the door knob.

“It won’t happen again.” 

Vic stared after him as he ducked out of the bathroom, letting the door swing shut in his wake. 

His promise resonated through her brain like a record stuck on the same four words of heartbroken song. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away quickly. 

She didn’t know what she had been expecting. That one heartfelt confession could change his mind? That her admitting she needed him would somehow evaporate his walls and his stubbornness? She could have gotten better results asking the sky to stop being blue. 

By now, she should know that she was stuck with these feelings and needs, and that maybe, these moments might be forever. 

 

~

 

A return visit to the courthouse to gather evidence in the bathroom availed them little except confirmation of Vic’s theory on the escape. 

Walt wasn’t surprised when she admitted her unwitting part in the plan. Blinding rage is all the human mind can produce when injured to such lengths as Chance Gilbert had injured Vic. Death, the darkest punishment of all, becomes an easily fantasized objective. 

Now more than ever, he needed to protect her - the right way. 

His suggestion that she stay at the office with him tonight didn’t come without its quiet implications. The narrowly avoided tryst in her RV hung in the background, damning evidence of the weakness he’d developed for her from nearly the moment she’d arrived in Durant. 

A few weeks ago, he would have packed Vic up and taken her to the cabin for safety instead of forcing them to camp out at the station. A few weeks ago, that weakness hadn’t yet made itself apparent, and irreversible. 

Walt rubbed pensively at his jaw as he watched Vic walk back and forth across the office, dragging the table and lamp into the jail cell to make their surroundings more comfortable. The lamplight was yellow and soft, casting her like an old oil painting, the fairest maiden of them all. 

A heavy sigh unwound itself from his chest. Romantic thoughts didn’t have any place in their relationship outside his head. Mortal danger followed them at every turn, more of a dogged reality than a pathetic excuse; at least, it was easier to defer to than his fear of committing to something he didn’t know would last - or replacing something else that he’d cherished for two decades. 

Walt straightened in his chair as Vic’s boots clicked across the hardwood toward his office. She leaned against the doorframe, her hips cocked to one side. 

“I’m thinking about getting some shut-eye.” She said, “What are you going to do? Sleep at your desk?” 

Walt dropped the file on Gilbert to his desk with a slap. “I don’t know if I will be sleeping.” 

“You don’t have to stand guard over me, you know. I can protect myself.” 

“I know.” Walt said, rising from his chair. He wandered across the office to peek between the blinds toward the street below. “I don’t think any of Chance’s family is crazy enough to directly attack this office, and Chance is too smart to try anything like that. I know we’ll be safe here for the night, but …” 

“But what?” 

“Well, I won’t relax until he’s recaptured.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

Walt dropped the blind back into place as Vic’s tone turned dejected. Her gaze was distant and watery, vacant of the steely determination he was accustomed to. 

“We  _ are  _ going to get him, Vic.” 

She pushed off the doorframe, and drew in a deep breath. “I know, I know.” 

His teeth pushed at his lower lip as she crossed the office to plop down on the couch beside him. There was a knee-jerk reaction to comfort her tugging at his chest, but he’d made their position clear in the Reading Room. He wasn’t even sure he could touch her platonically without going back on that freshly made promise. 

He sat down next to her, leaving a foot of space between them. 

Vic glanced over at him, her mouth quivering. “I just always do the wrong thing, don’t I?” 

“What? No.” 

“Yeah, I do.” She said, her voice choked with tears. “There was Gorski, Branch, now this …” 

“Vic, none of those things were your fault.” 

“Maybe not, but I didn’t make it better either. And somehow, you always end up in the middle of it with me.” 

“I’ve got my own problems, plenty of them.” Walt said, “We all make mistakes from time to time. As Sheriff, it’s my job to deal with all of the things you just named.” 

“Even Gorski?” 

“No.” Walt admitted, “I got myself involved in that one.” 

“Because you wanted to protect me.” 

Walt’s jaw clenched as her glistening, amber gaze reached across the careful space between them. 

“Even now, I’m fucking that up too.” She whispered, “It’s my fault, you know, because I’m the one who kissed you, and then I said you couldn’t take it back.” 

“Don’t blame yourself. I could have stopped myself, I just … I, uh, didn’t want want to.” 

Vic blinked, the rustle of eyelashes pushing a tear free. It darted down her flushed cheek, and she wiped it away with a the press of her knuckles. 

He pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket, and extended it to her. 

Dabbing her cheeks, she blinked away the lingering glaze in her eyes. When her face was dry, she held the handkerchief back out to him. 

He reached out to take it, his fingers brushing against her knuckles. Her skin was warm and soft, and he let his touch linger despite the warnings in his head. 

Curling her fingers tighter around his, Vic shifted across the couch, closing that foot of space he had diligently put between them. She must have seen him flinch because she gave a hoarse chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kiss you.” Then she uttered a heavy sigh that sounded to him like all the heartbreak in the world. He couldn’t deny her the same comfort he was yearning to give as she dropped her head to his shoulder, and hid her face in his chest. 

“Vic-”

“Don’t.” She whispered, her hand fluttering against his chest. “Can we just not say anything right now?” 

Walt resisted for a brief moment before allowing his arm to settle around her shoulder, and then to squeeze her against him. 

He’d expected her to be angry after their fight in the bathroom. He was halfway angry with himself. Maybe her cutting remark about him wanting to be the most important person in her life was truer than he wanted it to be; maybe she’d removed herself so far from anything else that he was the only thing left standing between her and collapse. 

He tried not to think about anything other than her being safe in his arms as she sank against him, her breathing growing heavy and deep. Under the circumstances, their private disagreements could take a backseat, and he could convince himself that this moment was on the borderline of professionalism - that it didn’t meant he was going back on his promises. 

Silence stretched on, the rise and fall of her shoulder beneath his hand keeping track of the seconds. When she was resting fully against him, her limbs limp, her breathing steady, he carefully slid his other arm under her legs. 

She stirred in his arms as he rose to his feet, but her eyes didn’t open. Her arms looped around him almost instinctively, supporting her position. 

He carried her across the bullpen, and into the open jail cell where she’d set up the lamp next to the cot. When he lowered her gently to the mattress, she settled against the pillow with a quiet hum. 

Crouching down next to the cot, he watched her sleeping expression of peace. It was a glimpse into rare passivity, a moment he knew wouldn’t last. Chance was still out there, and there was no telling what he would do. Walt could only hope to preserve these fleeting seconds of tranquility, and protect her come what may. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

In Walt’s mind, he’d always done everything he could to protect the people he loved. He would never willingly put anyone in danger, and he certainly wouldn’t ask someone to throw themself in front of a bullet meant for him.

The half-hour journey between Chance Gilbert’s compound and the hospital was the longest drive he’d ever taken because he knew he’d failed to protect Vic the way he’d always claimed to. 

He’d sent her home. He tried to do the right thing. He tried to protect her. 

Now she was bleeding out in his lap, her life at risk - her baby’s life at risk. 

She had made her own decision to come out into the field after him, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. As her superior officer, his decisions affected her; and he’d decided to go out looking for Chance without backup. She’d simply followed his lead.

Once she was in surgery, Walt went into the bathroom to wash the dried blood off his hands. In the dead hours of the night, the long, white rows of stalls were deserted, and starkly pale beneath the unsteady flicker of the overhead light. The dull hum of the disrupted electrical current layered white noise beneath his racing thoughts. 

Drawing in a shaky breath, he faced the mirror. The jaundiced light cast hollow shadows on his pale, panic-stricken expression. The front of his shirt was caked with blood - her blood. It was under his fingernails, dried into the tiny crevices of his knuckles. 

_ She’s gonna make it. She’s a fighter.  _

The reassuring thought held little sway over the shaken man in the mirror. 

Cranking on the faucet, he took a handful of foamy soap from the dispenser and scrubbed his fingers in the tepid water. Pale red circled the drain, her spent devotion washing away with the soap suds. Most of it washed away quickly, but the flakes under his nails stubbornly clung on. By the time he finished, his fingers were flushed and aching from the friction. 

Avoiding another glance in the mirror, he dried his hands with the cheap, coarse paper towels, and tossed them into the overflowing bin. 

Striding back out into the lobby, he stopped at the front desk, and asked to borrow the phone. His first call was to Ferg to find out how the processing of the scene at Gilbert’s compound was going. It sounded like the marshals had already taken over. His second call was to Ruby, to let her know he’d made it to the hospital with Vic. 

Hanging up the phone, he muttered a thank you to the receptionist, and wandered back to the waiting area. 

He sat for a few minutes before the lingering hum of adrenaline urged him back to his feet. He paced the waiting area, checking his watch, eyeing the door across the room in search of Dr. Weston and news of Vic’s condition. 

The numbing panic had eased. His thoughts came in ordered succession. Action, consequence, the scales of universe tipping back and forth for balance. It’s simple physics, the law of gravity. Every action gets an equal reaction; what goes up must come down. 

Vic didn’t get to walk away from this night unscathed. Neither of them did. 

It was too late for him to distance himself from his feelings for her. Too late to not get trapped in the collateral, too late to not be stung by the consequences - and he felt them more deeply, more acutely than ever before. 

His gaze caught on the sunset mural hanging along the length of the waiting room wall as he took off his hat, and sucked in a deep breath. 

It was beautiful. He wondered why they put it there; maybe to bring a sense of calm to the people waiting, maybe to infuse some life and color into the darkness and violence that came through the door every night. 

He couldn’t look at it without thinking that Vic might not see another sunset just like that one. Or at the very least, she’d never be able to look at it the same again. 

Turning away from the photograph, he tried to steady his breathing. 

_ Can’t think that way. Can’t give up on her now.  _

The sound of the door across the lobby swinging open pulled him out of his reverie. 

“Hey. Walt.” Travis’s voice was laced with panic as he strode across the waiting area. “I got here as fast as I could. How is she? How’s Vic?” 

Walt’s suppressed fears erupted into unstoppable anger as he turned to see the other man rushing toward him. Grabbing Travis by the shirt, he swung him around against the wall. Travis’s mouth opened with a sound of shock and pain knocked loose by his collison with the wall. 

“I asked you to watch her, and keep her safe.” Walt shouted, pinning his elbow under Travis’s neck. 

“I’m sorry, okay? She tricked me.” Travis pleaded, wiggling under the weight of Walt’s arm. “I-I went into check her RV and she took my car.” 

“And you just let her drive away?” 

“No, no I-I …” Travis stammered, “I called the station, but Ruby couldn’t find you, and I had to figure everything out on the police scanner.” 

Walt gripped his shirt tighter, wanting nothing more than to pummel Travis’s stupid, worthless face his every ounce of his strength. 

“Please, please-” Travis whimpered. 

It was only the sound of Doc Weston’s voice cutting through the buzz of anger in his head that made him release Travis. “Sheriff?” 

Walt let go of Travis shirt, allowing one last pointed glare before turning to the doctor. 

“Deputy Moretti is out of surgery. I need to talk to you.” 

Walt rushed to follow Doc Weston around the corner, and past the doors leading into the emergency rooms. The hallway was quiet except for a few nurses rushing to and from operating rooms. The echo of monitors and distant voices were louder than he expected. 

“What is it? How is she?” He demanded. 

Weston’s gaze flickered from Walt’s as he crossed his arms and drew in a deep breath. “We have her stabilized.” 

Walt exhaled, relief expanding his chest for the first time since he’d heard the gunshots ring out across the compound. 

“Good.” He said. 

“She’s lucky.” Weston said, “The bullet didn’t hit bone. It nicked an artery so that explained the serious blood-loss, but we were able to repair it. She’s going to be fine … in that respect.” 

Walt swallowed hard as Weston’s voice dipped to a somber note. 

“What you mean?” Walt pressed. “What about the uh … What I told you when I brought her in … ?” 

“The pregnancy.” Doc Weston said, nodding slowly. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.” 

“Look, Doc, I don’t give a damn about patient confidentiality. Whatever you tell me right now stays between us until Vic says so. And I’m going to be the one to tell her truth - not you, or anyone else.” 

Doc Weston’s gaze softened, his jaw working to one side. “In situations like this, we do what we can to save the woman. We want to save the baby’s life too, but sometimes it’s just not possible.” 

Walt processed what the doctor was saying gradually, the connotations coming together in fractured pieces. 

“The baby didn’t make it.” He whispered. 

“No, I’m sorry.” Doc Weston said, “On the bright side, it probably saved her life. A pregnant woman has more red blood cells than most people, and that more than likely helped her hang on until you could get her here. It’s a small comfort, but … it’s something.” 

“Yeah.” Walt whispered, pressing a hand over his mouth. 

Doc Weston observed his reaction for a long moment before touching his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Walt. Was the, uh … was it yours?” 

“What? No.” Walt snapped out of distant thought to hurl a frown at the doctor’s concerned gaze. “No, the baby wasn’t mine.” 

“I’m sorry.” Weston said, holding up his hands. “You seem a little more invested than most bosses.” 

“I said I’m going to be the one to tell her.” Walt said, “I’ve done a lot of notifications, Doc. None like this.” 

“You don’t have to do it. I was her attending doctor. Normally it would be my responsibility.” 

“I don’t want her to hear it from a stranger. It’ll be better coming from me.” 

“If you insist.” 

“When can I see her?” 

“Now, if you want. She’s sleeping though, and I highly recommend not waking her.” 

“That’s okay. I’d just like to sit with her, see that she’s okay.” 

“Okay. Follow me.” 

Doc Weston led him down the halls, past the operating rooms, and into the recovery ward. When they reached Vic’s room, Walt thanked the doctor, and crossed the room to Vic’s side. 

She lay motionless against the white sheets, her hands folded over her stomach. Her hair was wet; they had cleaned all the blood away. She looked like porcelain, her skin sapped of color save for the visible blue of veins snaking beneath the surface. 

Pulling the chair close to the bed, he sank to the cushion with a deep sigh. 

He could breathe knowing that she was going to make it, but the hours ahead stretched on with dooming weight that he wished he could face for her. 

He touched her arm with the back of his knuckles, taking in the softness of her skin. 

The number of times he’d thought about her skin, he thought he would have it memorized by now; the velvet silkiness beneath his hardened palms, the radiating warmth, the supple curves. It was all that had occupied his mind for weeks, but she seemed more delicate than his recollection. 

He wished he could undo the last few hours so that she didn’t have to suffer. In the end, her happiness was all that really mattered. The yearning, the jealousy, and the disagreements of the past few weeks seemed far away and pointless in comparison to this moment. 

He didn’t take his eyes off her for the next hour, not even when Ferg arrived straight from Gilbert’s compound to give him an update. 

Walt could barely process what Ferg was saying, but he absorbed enough to know the marshals were handling the scene long enough for him to stay here with Vic until she woke up. He didn’t want to leave her side; he didn’t want her to wake up here alone, without him. 

Walt murmured a thank you as Ferg left. 

Turning back to Vic, he drew in a shaky breath. He reached out to gently take her hand from it’s resting place on top of the other, and held it between his palms. Her skin was smooth and cool as glass.  

Rising from the chair, he bent over her supine form to leave a latent kiss on her forehead. A shaky breath unraveled from his chest, followed by the faint sting of relieved tears.

The reality of her laying against the sheets, breathing and alive solidified, bringing a bittersweet ache to his chest. Pressing another kiss to the bare pulse at her temple, he let the moment linger on before gradually withdrawing. 

He shifted his gaze down to her unresponsive expression, noting the tiny details of her eyelashes, the edges of her cheekbones sharp and milky in the cold, hospital lighting, the pale pink of her lips drained of color. She didn’t stir; motionless, emotionless - for these few, fleeting moments. He could feel the them slipping away like sand in an hourglass. 

Sinking back into the chair, he blinked against a sudden wave of exhaustion. 

The last of his adrenaline slipped away with the long, dark hours of the night leaving only to the instinctive parts of his brain to process texture, sound, and emotion in hazy retrograde. 

He kept their hands locked together as propped his arm on the bed, and let his head rest in the cradle of his elbow. Even the dread of what was coming couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer; he drifted off before he could fully realize that sleep had taken over reality. 

It seemed only seconds that his eyes were shut when he felt Vic’s fingers twitching against his hand. He lifted his head abruptly to see her gazing down at him, her eyelids half-shut. 

“Hey.” He whispered. 

Relief that she was breathing and awake flooded his chest, followed by the piercing needle of harsh consequences. He reached up to touch her shoulder, eager to reassure himself that she was okay. 

Vic’s jaw clenched as she swallowed, and drew in a shuddering breath. “Is he dead?” 

“Chance.” Walt said, nodding. “Yeah … yeah, he’s dead.” 

Hard-earned relief washed across her face. Her eyes slipped shut, as if to preserve his response as real. Her throat bobbed in a thick swallow, dry lips pursing in a discomfort. 

Walt took the cup the nurse had left from the table. 

“Want some water?” 

She nodded, lifting her head from the pillow to accept the straw. 

“That’s good.” He encouraged. 

She sipped weakly from the straw, and let her head fall back against the pillow with a heavy sigh. 

“It’s good to see you awake. It was, uh … it was kind of touch-and-go there for awhile.” Walt said, managing a smile. 

Deep in his chest, the terror was still retreating. Seeing her awake didn’t seem enough for his panicked brain; he wanted to pick her up off the pillows and hold her tightly until this nightmarish memory faded away, but she looked fragile, like a china doll. Maybe he’d done enough damage. 

“They said they got all the bullet out of your leg.” He said, pushing past the deprecating thought. “You’re going to be fine, but it nicked an artery so it was pretty close.” 

“Thank you for getting me here.” Her voice was raspy and paper-thin

“Sure.” He murmured. 

The fear in her eyes was subdued, but he could see it nonetheless. She was already thinking of her baby, not wanting to ask, not wanting to know. And he didn’t didn’t want to tell her; no matter how many times he’d already rehearsed this moment in his head, he knew the arrangement of words wouldn’t matter. 

Drawing in a breath, he pushed on. “Doc Weston told me that people who lose as much blood as you don’t usually make it. But because of your … condition you had more red blood cells than usual, and that helped you hang on until we got you to the hospital.” 

She blinked slowly. Emotion faltered across the stony edges of her features despite the shattering news. There was only a beat of hesitation before she asked. “But?” 

“But you lost too much blood for the baby to survive.” Walt whispered. 

Her hazy gaze stayed on him for a few, brief moments before her eyelids slipped shut. She was reticent and still as if carved from stone, the pain frozen in the lines of her face like an already scarred wound. 

“I’m so sorry, Vic.” Walt murmured. 

“I should have told you that I was pregnant.” She said, regret etching gradually through her words. 

“That’s okay, Vic. It was really none of my business.” 

“Except it was.” She said, her gaze shifting back to his. “I was pregnant the night that …” 

He lowered his head. “I know.” 

“I was pregnant weeks before that, and I …I didn’t tell you; I  _ hid  _ it from you- ” 

“You would have told me eventually.” 

“When it became unavoidable. You shouldn’t have heard it from Travis.” 

“We can’t worry about that now.” He assured, putting his hand on her leg and squeezing softly. 

“I think I did it because it didn’t feel real.” She said, “It was still so soon, so early, but I guess now the decision has been made for me.” 

Faint tears glinted in her the corners of her eyes as she looked away from his concerned gaze. 

“Do you want to be alone?” 

“No.” Her eyes sprang open again, and she reached out to clutch his hand.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, looping his other hand around her wrist. Her fingers curled in against his palm, her hand fitting entirely under his. 

“We were real.” She whispered. “At least, it felt more real than something I could only see on an ultrasound …” 

“Don’t worry about me right now.” Walt said, “We just need to focus you getting better.” 

“Maybe I didn’t want it to be real …” She murmured, her voice distant as if she hadn’t even heard his gentle reasoning. “Because it would have screwed up you and me. But I messed it up on my own.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

She looked up at him, her eyes shining like amber whiskey.  

“I did.” He added, his gaze dropping down to his lap where both hands clutched hers. 

She sighed quietly, but didn’t offer an argument. 

“Listen, “ He said, “It’s up to you, but sometimes it’s a good idea to mark something like this. If you want, I could help arrange a private ceremony.” 

Her gaze drifted away as she shook her head. “No, I don’t want anything like that, just … tell the hospital that they can take care of- … that they can do whatever it is they do in situations like this. I just don’t wanna think about it.” 

“Sure, I’ll let them know.” He said. 

Her brow twisted softly in a pained grimace, and he squeezed her hand tighter. 

“It’s gonna be okay.” He said the words gently, pressing every reassurance he could into them, hoping she’d believe him. He didn’t know if he believed himself, but after all they’d been through together, his promise had to count for something. 

“I just feel terrible that I don’t feel more terrible.” She whispered. “Is that wrong?” 

“No, not if that’s the way you feel.” 

She nodded, her eyes pressing shut. Another deep sigh untethered itself from her chest, but it didn’t sound like relief. 

“Do you want anything?” He asked, “Are you hungry?” 

She shook her head. “No.” 

“Okay.” 

“You should go.” Vic murmured, “I know you have work to do.” 

“It’s okay. The marshals are processing the scene, they took Chance’s body for the autopsy. I’m here as long as you need me.” 

“There isn’t anything you can do here.” 

“You said you didn’t want to be alone.” 

Her teeth pressed against her lower lip. “I don’t.” 

“Then I’m not leaving.” 

Her gaze flickered to him, some semblance of relief wavering in the dull brown of her eyes. Lifting her hand from his lap, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Her skin felt warmer already. 

He knew what was coming after this. Loss comes in torturous, gradual phases like deepening circles of hell. It is pain, sadness, questions, and dark days full of wandering, black roads in a mind torn by the missing part of you. He could see it propagating behind her eyes already. 

After the reality of her child’s death fully settled, she would questioning everything. And their partially-evolved relationship, woven together in body and soul magnetic attraction, would be part of it. He didn’t know what the future held, but he knew he had to be here for her, as a support system and caretaker, no matter the outcome. 

 

~

 

Vic knew it made Walt feel better to dote on her.  The independent spirit in her wanted to reject the protective caregiving, but she couldn’t find the will or the energy within herself to act on that instinctive reaction. So she let him. 

She let him take her home. She didn’t argue or try to leave when he parked the RV in front of his house without her permission. She didn’t object to the food, or the gentle reminders to drink enough water and take her medicine. 

But maybe it was too much that he could see into her broken heart without even trying. He saw the pent-up tears, the pain bursting at its compartments. He unraveled the bare threads of her composure with a simple reminder. All this was real; it was all happening to her. The toy barn blurring before her vision was evidence enough. 

The tears came like a flood, and the suppressed grief like a tsunami sweeping through her body. Her strength was gone, and she let him guide her into his lap where her misery pooled into the faded denim. 

For several terrible minutes she couldn’t breathe without gasping a tearful cry. 

It felt like an eternity as the sobs gradually decreased, the violent emotion seeping back into manageable numbness. The tears dried on her face, leaving her skin stiff and puffy with the remnants of pain. Her eyes felt raw; she closed them, letting out a weary breath. 

His hand stroked rhythmically through her hair, a soothing constant to the dissonant emotion ricocheting through her chest. Perhaps if he stopped, she would come untethered and drift away with the wind. 

When she opened her eyes again, the fading sunlight had disappeared entirely, and the cabin was dark save for the lamplight. Lifting her head from his lap, she felt her temples pound with the sudden shift of blood. 

Walt’s hand lingered against her nape while the other reached up to wipe a stray tear from the corner of her eye. 

She swallowed against her dry throat, reviving moisture to chapped lips. Her voice was soft and coarse when she spoke. “I should go back out. It’s late, and I’m tired-”

“Stay here.” 

She opened her eyes to see him gazing at her worriedly. His gaze held hers for a long, quiet moment, fingers shifting through her hair and against the tense muscles of her neck. 

She leaned forward to press her fingertips to her forehead. A dull headache worked its way around her skull, feeding complacency. She let her body wilt into him, her head coming to rest against his shoulder. 

She thought about the last time he’d held her in the station, in the middle of the night. She’d been angry then; but not quite angry enough to deny herself the relieving contact. 

“Where does this leave us?” She whispered, her voice echoing raspy in the silence of the cabin. 

His palm pressed against her temple as if to soothe her thoughts. 

“Don’t worry about that right now.” 

“I just … I don’t know where to go from here. Everything got twisted around, and turned upside down and …” 

Vic exhaled against the lump lingering in the back of her throat. Walt’s chest expanded with a wavering breath beneath her head. 

“I can’t figure out where I went so wrong.” She whispered, her voice cracking again. 

Emotion lingered in the background like a distant storm, contained for now but ready to collapse in on her at any moment. 

Cradling her cheek, Walt tilted her head back just enough for their eyes to meet. 

“None of this is your fault.” He said, each word tender but firm. 

She swallowed hard, blinking away the sting of tears. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and laid his cheek where the faint hum of it lingered on her skin. She clutched the wrist of his hand on her face, desperate to hold onto the tiny haven of peace his embrace provided. 

Her eyes slipped shut as the moments stretched on, and she could feel herself drifting away from reality. Dismal thought and hazy dreams blurred into a suffocating cocoon of darkness that pulled her down as if under inky waters. 

She dreamed of long black hallways. She ran, and ran, and ran, but something was always chasing her - never getting closer, but never disappearing. She was so tired; she just wanted it all to stop. 

It was almost a relief when her eyes opened to the morning and the ringing of Walt’s telephone. When Dave Milgrim’s voice announced that Walt’s trial was starting, she remembered that his sky was falling just as quickly as her own. 

 

~

 

Vic missed Tucker Baggett’s death while she was on the road, running from the grief and guilt gnawing away at her heart. When Walt broke the news to her, she felt as if she’d hurtled out of a long, dark tunnel back into the blinding light of reality. 

The blanket of misery and dread that had kept her submerged in disconnected pain for the past several hours lifted, leaving her skin needling with hyper awareness, and the urge to do something - anything - to help Walt’s case. 

She welcomed the distraction, and the opportunity to get back to work that Baggett’s death offered. Walt wasn’t happy that she was back in the office, but they didn’t have time to argue with the mayor breathing down his neck. 

That was three days ago, and the case had been solved. Lucien’s death hung like yet another black mark above this tumultuous year, just another reminder of the fragility of life. Walt had banished her from the office until Doc Weston cleared her for duty, and she was left wandering the cabin during the day, only her dismal thoughts for company. At night, she slept out in the RV, not wanting to intrude on his privacy more than she already was despite the yearning of her cold, hollow body for the comfort of touch, or at the very least, his company. 

It as the seventh evening of her RV being stationed in his yard, and it stretched on just the same as those before. 

Vic’s sigh spilled into the darkness of the RV as she tried to press her eyes shut. Silence returned the weary sound with deafening indifference. Sleep was a far away concept that she chased after with increasingly weary persistence. 

Vic rolled over against the lumpy cushions of the RV’s couch for what felt like the hundredth time. Her alert eyes drifted back open, staring up at the shadowy ceiling with winding thought spinning behind their motionless glass. 

Every time she tried to rest, her mind circled back to the emptiness in her belly. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was the cold metal of the gun against her temple, and the metallic clatter when she’d ejected the unspent shell. How close she’d come to ending it all made her limbs shake with cold terror. 

It was only the thought of Walt’s voice that brought her some comfort-  _ The only way my situation could be worse, would be if you weren’t here right now … I swear to God.  _

A sudden gust of wind howling against the RV made every muscle in her body seize. She sat upright, and tugged the curtain back from the window to peer in the darkness beyond. 

Her fingers were cold and shaking, her skin prickling with hypervigilance.

_ There’s no one out there _ .

The thought was far from comforting. 

Vic’s gaze lingered on the shadowy outline of the cabin several yards away. All the lights were off. It was the middle of the night, and he wouldn’t be awake. 

Shaking her head, Vic plopped back against her pillow, and put her arm over her eyes.

She didn’t move for what felt like an eternity. Her skin crawled with a thousand voice of guilt and regret, all that bubbling malevolence trapped inside her stiff, trembling body. 

She couldn’t take it anymore; she couldn’t lie here, motionless, like some tormented prisoner of her own body. 

She broke into motion without thinking beyond the next second -  up off the couch, into her sweatpants, out of the RV, across the cold, prickly grass. Her bare feet hit the bottom step of the porch, and she felt the tiny edge of the nailhead dig into her skin. She kept going, ignoring everything but the desperate demand for relief inside her head. When her fingers closed around the cool, metal handle of the screen door, she forced herself to slow down and be quiet. 

Easing the screen open, she closed her fingers around the brass handle of the front door, and turned it carefully. He’d left it open. 

Vic crept inside, wincing as her tread on the floorboards caused a low squeak. As she took another careful step, the sound of a round sliding into a rifle chamber brought her to rigid halt. 

“Stop right there.” 

“Walt, it’s me.” She hissed. 

Overhead light flooded the living room, forcing Vic to squint against the blinding flash to see him. 

Shirtless and gripping his rifle, Walt squinted back at her from the doorway of his bedroom. 

“Vic …I could have shot you.”  

“Sorry, I … I couldn’t sleep in the RV.” 

He nodded, his mouth tensing with worry. “You want to talk about it?” 

“Not really. I just don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts right now.” 

“Okay.” He said. Glancing down at the rifle, he sighed. “Well, I guess I won’t be needing this.” 

“Walt, I’m-” 

She bit her lower lip over the words as he ducked back into the bedroom. She cleared her throat anxiously, and rocked on her heels while she waited. Her brain was still in the process of berating her for this whimsical, midnight decision when he came back out, fully dressed. 

“You want something to drink?” He asked, “Coffee, tea … Beer?” 

“I’m sorry, this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t be getting you out of bed in the middle of the night.” She said, rushing the words as heat flooded her cheeks. 

“Vic, really, it’s okay-”

“No, no. I was just overthinking. I’ll just go-

She turned toward the front door, but his fingers caught her elbow, gentle but firm. 

“Vic.” 

She slowly raised her eyes to his, biting back the stinging embarrassment. 

“If you don’t feel comfortable out there, I want you to stay right here.” 

She pursed her lips as hot tears crowded against her eyelids. The borders and bricks of her self-made defenses shuddered with the slightest pressure. She was so tired; she wanted to collapse into him, to feel someone else holding her up instead of her own battered limbs. 

She squeezed her eyes shut over the swell of emotion. 

His grip on her elbow tightened, drawing her against him. She resisted for a brief, quivering moment before leaning into the warmth and solidity of his chest. Pressing her forehead into his shoulder, she sucked in a hiccuping breath to push down the dull, panicky flutter enveloping her ribs. 

Walt’s other hand found her lower back, and followed the trembling curve of her spine up to where her shoulder blades constricted with tears. 

The embrace seemed to stretch on forever as Vic scraped together her self-control, tamping down the emotion into boxed up corners in the back of her mind. She longed for the disconnected numbness she’d experienced in the hospital, the grief so overwhelming that it was almost too much to experience. 

When she managed to swallow back the unshed tears, she broke out of Walt’s gentle grasp, and swiped a lingering tear from her cheek. 

“Sorry.” She murmured, staring at the floor. “This is too much for three o’clock in the morning, I just-” 

“It’s fine.” 

She glanced up mid-apology to find his gaze as sincere as his brief, but certain statement. 

“I wasn’t sleeping much anyway.” He said, offering a hapless smile. 

She crossed her arms protectively over herself as she took another step back from his lingering hands. 

“Okay, well that makes me feel the tiniest bit better.” 

“Why don’t you sit down?” He suggested, motioning to the couch. “I’ll grab us something to drink.” 

She didn’t have the will to object as he disappeared into the kitchen.  She sank to the couch cushions, rubbing her hands over her face. 

When Walt returned with two beers, she accepted one with a thin smile. 

“Thanks.” 

Releasing a heavy sigh, he sank down on the couch, and cracked the can open one-handed. 

“Is it the trial that’s keeping you up?” She asked.  

“Mm.” He grunted. “The judge is taking his time deciding whether or not to grant a mistrial.” 

“And if he doesn’t?” 

“That’s what I can’t stop thinking about. Tucker Baggett’s death just makes me look worse in the view of the civil suit.” 

Vic opened her beer, and took a drink. In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the fizz radiating from inside the aluminum. Taking a bolstering drink, she leaned forward to set the can down on the coffee table. 

“I wish I could stop thinking.” 

Bracing, her elbows on her knees, she dropped her forehead slowly into her hands. She could feel his gaze tracing the back of her head and her quivering shoulders, his pity oozing into her fractured body. 

Vic dragged her hands from her face, and sucked in a breath. 

“It has to stop at some point, right? I’m not going to feel this way for the rest of my life …” 

“Just give it some time.” 

She glanced over her shoulder at him when he touched her arm. A reassuring smile tugged at his mouth, and she conjured one in return. His hand slid up to grasp her shoulder, lingering there like an anchor tying down her fleeting resolve. 

Turning her cheek down against his knuckles, she closed her eyes. She savored the contact for a moment before lifting her chin, and allowing his fingers slip away. 

He sipped his beer, and huffed out a low sigh into the quiet. 

Vic focused on the little details in the wood floorboards, hearing that silence like a roar. 

She’d never realized how quiet it was out here, or how the solitary emptiness stretched on like an open wound, nothing but memory and thought as reference points. She’d never thought about how he’d once shared this space with his wife, and how strange it was that she was here now, occupying the same space. She hadn’t realized that the difference between comfortable silence and aching solitude was all about the person you were with, and how she’d never felt that way until just now. 

“How long am I supposed to stay here?” She murmured. 

She heard him draw in a pensive breath. “As long as you need.” 

“Need?” 

“I brought you here so you’d feel safe. Until you feel safe going back home, I won’t make you leave.” 

She turned her gaze over her shoulder at him, and caught him watching her bare shoulders. He blinked, shifting glassy, midnight eyes up to her face. 

“I do feel safe here.” She whispered. 

“Good.” 

“I feel safe with you.” 

His jaw clenched, the pale gleam of sleeplessness in his eyes shifting to a spark of muted satisfaction. 

Bringing her knees up, Vic turned to crawl in a few short strides across the couch to where he slouched against the cushions. He started to sit up, but she pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. 

His fingers curled around her elbow, neither stopping her or pulling her closer. 

Their gazes linked as she paused with mere inches separating them. 

“Vic …” He murmured her name in a low, raspy grunt. 

She considered what she was about to do, and her motivations for doing it for brief seconds before leaning in to seal her mouth over his. 

Their mouths connected in a motionless, lingering kiss, her lips stamping his as more of a statement of fact than an act of intimacy. Her chest gathered stiff and breathless as blood pulsed faster and hotter through her veins, echoing like a raging waterfall in her ears. With the taste of his mouth on hers, she could feel her skin awakening, like dusty parchment given new, flourishing life. 

His other hand reached up to grasp her cheek, holding her gently before carefully disconnecting their mouths. 

“Vic …” She could hear the tempered storm in his husky whisper. 

His gaze followed the wet curve of her mouth, the flushed ridges of her cheeks, before reaching up to grip her searching gaze with his own, torn and flaring with suppressed desires. 

She kissed him again, this time pushing her tongue against the resistant seam of his lips to communicate her purpose. With little negotiation, his mouth melted open against hers, and a groan slipped forth, wracked with conflicted need. 

She threw her leg over his lap, and straddled him with a thrust. Their hips connected hard, releasing moans from both of them that tangled between their stroking mouths. 

Both his hands framed her face as he pushed up from the cushions, returning the passion of her kiss with a blaze of his own. She moaned in reply, grasping his chest with hungry hands. His tongue pushed against hers, seeping saliva and the faint taste of beer into her mouth, and leaving her lips burning from the coarse scrape of his stubble. 

When the kiss broke, she pressed her forehead against his, sharing the heated puffs of his breaths with her own exhilarated exhales. 

One hand slid from her cheek to grasp the curve of her waist. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he swallowed hard. 

“I made you a promise.” He whispered. 

“What promise?” 

“That this wouldn’t happen again.” 

“Why? Because I was pregnant?” She asked, “That’s not a problem anymore.” 

“You’re not thinking clearly-”

“Oh, no.” She said, choking out a bitter laugh. 

He leaned back to scrutinize her hard, watery gaze. 

“I’m thinking more clearly than I have in months.” She said, “Nearly dying - it’s woken me up to raw truth of things; and the way I see it, we have been running away from this - from what we want from each other - for far too long.” 

“Maybe.” He said, “But you’re hurt, Vic. You’re grieving, and I don’t feel right-”

“I don’t give a damn about right, Walt. A couple days ago, I was thinking about killing myself.” 

His eyes shuttered in a brief flinch before his eyelids lifted to pin her with a tender gaze. 

Exhaling a sigh of pent-up longing, she whispered, “I don’t want that. I want  _ this.  _ I want to feel alive. I want to feel good, worthy …” 

Her defiant tone caved as the blunt truth passed her lips, and she choked on that final word. Glancing away from the concerned blue of his swallowing gaze, she pressed her knuckles against her mouth. Frustration tracked hot anger through her chest as she wondered if she’d be swallowing back this devastating emotion for the rest of her life. 

Grasping her hips, Walt carefully lifted her off his lap, and onto the couch next to him. 

“You were right.” He said, “It’s three o’clock in the morning. Maybe we’re both just a little overwrought.” 

Vic pressed a hand over her face as heat flared up her throat and cheeks. 

She’d been foolish to think he would let her seduce him so easily; his morals were as staunch as ever, his unwavering need to do the right thing still a roadblock on her way to gratification. 

“You look exhausted.” He said, after a long moment. “I’ll get a pillow and some blankets. You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the couch.” 

“No, you don’t have to do that.” Vic said, “I’m not going to wake you up in the middle of the night, and then steal your bed. I can sleep here.” 

“Please, I insist-”

“No.” She snapped, casting him a pointed gaze, “Just give me a damn pillow, and I’ll sleep here.” 

He gazed at her, his brow creased with concern, before giving a resigned sigh. “Okay.” 

He rose from the couch, and walked back into his bedroom to retrieve the pillow and blankets. 

Vic snatched her beer, and took a long drink. Irritation simmered with the alcohol in her belly. Desire lingered like a dying star in her veins, the sparks staying long after the implosion, the light burning unforgotten. Her needs wouldn’t be so easily ignored, and yet, she wished they would. She was chasing after something unattainable; maybe she would never be good enough for him, for this place where the perfect love had been memorialized. 

When Walt returned with the pillow and blanket, she took them without uttering a word. 

“Get some sleep.” He said. 

She curled up on the couch as he turned the lights off, and went back into his bedroom. The door slid shut behind him, leaving her in silence and darkness. 

Faint moonlight spilled through the window, casting pewter illumination on the desk below, and the piano. 

The instrument sat silent, abandoned and unplayed, it’s ivory keys atrophied and empty of music. She wondered how long it would be before she was just the same, untouched, unloved, forgotten - her body stiff and hollow with disuse. She wondered if anyone else could ever value the scars her body bore. Who else would understand everything she’d experienced, and not see her as broken. No one else knew what this felt like; only they did - and she was about to let him stonewall her again, just like he had back in her RV. 

She couldn’t wait for happiness to come to her - or for him to get over his guilt. 

She sat upright, throwing the blanket back from her legs. Her feet landed on the floor, bolting there with determination. Rising from the couch, she marched across the living room to the closed door of his bedroom, finding her way by the rare light of the moon. 

When her fingers closed around the doorknob, the surge of adrenaline lacing through her veins skyrocketed in a blazing path up the middle of her chest. Pushing the door open, she slipped inside, and strode across the carpet. 

In the darkness, she heard the rustle of sheets, and saw his shadowy figure sit upright in the bed. 

“Vic, what are you doing?” 

Grasping the hem of her tank top, she pulled the garment off over her head in one smooth motion. 

He started across the mattress as she reached down to peel her sweatpants down from her hips. 

“Vic.” 

She kicked the sweatpants away, and crawled onto the bed to meet him halfway across the mattress. 

“Vic-” His voice was more urgent this time, reaching out from the shadows with an underlying, raspy ache. 

Body colliding into him, she pushed her mouth against his, and let her momentum carry them down against the sheets. His hands grasped her hips as she spread her thighs across his lap, and urged against the rigid, pulsing bulge of his cock thinly trapped by his boxers. 

He tried to sit up, but she planted her hands on his chest to push him back down. A grunt erupted from his mouth as the jostle caused her teeth to snag his lower lip. His fingers dug into her hips, barely restraining the undulating grind of her body against his stubborn erection. 

Shallow, panting breaths gusted across her cheeks as she broke the kiss long enough find his wide-eyed gaze in the darkness. Under her palms, his chest hitched with every inhale. 

“I’m not overwrought.” She whispered. “And I’m thinking clearly.” 

This time, when he tried to sit up, she let her hands slide away from his chest. 

Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, and she could make out the faint lines of his conflicted expression. He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand. 

“Just listen.” 

“Vic-” 

“No.” She said, firmly. “I almost died. My body feels like it’s been put through a shredder - like it’s been cut open, turned inside out, and then put back together again. I can’t stop thinking about what I could have done differently; what I should have done to protect my baby. I feel crazy, Walt, like I don’t know anything. But I do know this - that as destroyed as my body is, it still wants something … it still needs-” 

“Vic.” He said, worry etched into her name. His palm clutched her cheek, but she gripped his wrist to stop him from smothering her in comfort. 

“I still want you.” She whispered, “And I hope you still want me because it’s the only thing I know for sure.” 

His head dropped, a deep exhale shaking his chest. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, sparking panic in her chest. 

She pressed her eyes shut, fresh humiliation lunging at her chest. 

“You know, I get it.” She said, shoving off his lap with her palms on his shoulders, “You didn’t want me then because I was pregnant, and you don’t want me now because I’m ruined-”

“Vic, wait.” 

His hands closed around her waist, stopping her abrupt scramble to get off the bed. When she resisted, he swung her down against the mattress, pinning her on her back with a hand covering her cheek. 

“You’re not ruined.” He whispered, his gaze reaching out to her from the darkness like a beacon across tumultuous waters. “You’re not.” 

She blinked against the hot prickle of tears as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. 

The affirmation came again, barely an audible whisper as he leaned closer. His mouth pressed softly over hers, silencing whatever humiliated outcry that still lingered, and stealing away the shuddering breath left in her lungs. Tears trickled down her temples, their burning shame forgotten as his mouth claimed hers in a slick, indulgent caress. 

She reached up to grasp his chest as he rolled between her legs, his hips settling down on hers with the awakening pulse of his cock between them. The thin cotton rubbed against her naked flesh, sparking desire anew. Seconds stood between tearful gasps, and aroused groans. The humiliated panic slid behind the cresting pleasure like a brilliant and swift solar eclipse. 

He kissed her shuddering mouth in lingering, attentive strokes that left her breathless, her head spinning with the tectonic shift in the universe he had suddenly granted her. She closed her eyes, letting her body sink into the sensation, the edges of her limbs and bones melting into one quivering mass of relief and desire.

The seconds were tracked by the caress of his mouth until it gradually slipped away. 

She drew in a shaky breath, and opened her eyes in the darkness to find him hovering above her. She could see the somberness in his eyes, the conflict etched into the lines of his face. She watched his resistance collapse under the simple stroke of her fingertips against his cheek. 

Bending down, he pushed his mouth and nose into the curve of her neck. She opened her throat to the warm, wet press of his lips, uttering a soft moan that emerged with a genuine ache from her chest. 

His mouth was tender but firm as it journeyed down her throat and chest, finding her skin heaving and compliant to winding path of his lips.  His palms gathered her breasts, plumping them to the blazing path of his mouth. She whimpered as the calloused grasp of his hands kneaded her tender skin, bringing her nipples to aching firmness before lifting one to the wet, velvet seal of his lips. 

Arching into the ministration, Vic clutched a handful of his hair, and moaned a husky sound of pleasure. The whimpers came freely, from a deep place in her chest that had been locked up and hidden behind layers of despair. She could feel that part of her splitting open again, the lurching passion and aching need as crystal clear and driving as the night she’d kissed him in the RV. 

When he finished submitting  her swollen nipples to the thorough suckle of his lips, she could all but feel the faint, purple marks throbbing to vivid life on the milky palette of her skin. He left the raw, aching buds of flesh to the caress of his fingers as he traveled lower, his mouth grazing her quivering belly on his focused path to her groin, where her moderated desire had given way to fully blossomed, pulsing arousal. 

She gasped, her body limp and pliant to his guidance as he eased her legs open wider. The ache between her thighs swelled, and she could almost taste the heat radiating from her body; every inch oozed with it, every fiber freshly alive with his touch. 

She clutched at the sheets while his tongue wound between her legs, against her slick folds, into the swollen opening where arousal gushed. Sensation flooded her, almost too much to feel all at once, but the throbbing ache kept her singly focused on the cresting pleasure. 

Rolling her hips into the rhythmic swirl of his tongue, she laced her fingers through the hair of his crown. She moaned as his tongue traced out luscious, blissful circles against her puffy, pulsing clitoris, quickly drawing the rippling flutters of orgasm to a dull ache between her thighs.  Her eyes clamped shut, the sparks of pleasure nebulous in the darkness behind her lids. 

Orgasm rose like a dormant creature reawakening itself, shaking off the shadows and disappointment, forgetting the dark world behind. It was white, and hot, and pulsating, the tide of it cresting higher and higher with every glorious revolution of his tongue. She eagerly threw herself into the consuming sensation, gasping breathless when it seized her in long, aching spasms. 

Moans tore raspy and thin from her throat, distant in her ears to the roar of satisfaction coursing through her body.  The convulsions came hard and purposeful, thrusting her hips into the steady, wet pressure of his mouth. The pleasure trailed on, fragments of orgasm and the persistent push of his tongue keeping her quivering and moaning until the weakness overtook her limbs. 

She sank down against the sheets, her body shaking and limp. The hum of pleasure lingered between her hips, a pleasant burning, oversensitized sensation that left her body slightly numb and achingly tender.

His tongue lapped up what was left of her slick release, and she whimpered, her fingers tugging at his hair. He rose up from between her legs, and pressed a gentle kiss, slick and musky with her pleasure, to her shuddering lips. 

The solid weight of his body pinned down her humming, drifting limbs, the heave of his chest and the damp sheen of sweat grounding her in the moments slipping past with swift, aching clarity. At some point during her delirious spasms of pleasure, he’d removed his boxers; his cock was hot and rigid against her, nudging a whimper from her throat with it’s gradual stroking. 

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back to watch her wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression as he slowly breached her tender, gushing body. 

She gasped out the single syllable of his name, her body aching and quivering to the intrusion of his blunt, throbbing erection. The protracted motion etched every inch of him into her memory, and pushed her clamped, gushing body slowly open until he was resting against the deepest part of her.  She whimpered as he filled her entirely, and he responded with a low groan, his head dropping to her shoulder. He rested motionless against her, his cock buried to hilt in her wet, quivering body. 

“Ohh…”

The sound of his groan echoed through her, pushing a smile to her lips. She lifted her knees against his sides, letting him shift the tiniest bit deeper. He rolled his hips softly against her, drawing a thin gasp from her chest. 

“Ohh ... Jesus.” She moaned, clutching at his shoulders. “Walt-”

He slid his palm up the back of her thigh, and hooked his hand under her knee to pin her in place. Rising up on his elbow, he lifted his gaze to hers as he drew back, all the way to the tip, before thrusting in again. 

She moaned, wiggling beneath his firm grasp. “Yes …” 

He rocked against her, producing a wet, muted slap each time his purposeful stroke met her dripping body. The slow, raw thrusting took the air from her lungs, leaving her with only whimpered mewls as her pleasured response. Every time he left her hollow and aching, his hips came back down to seal her full of his pulsing cock; and every time their bodies joined in symbiotic harmony, she felt the world outside dropping farther and farther from view. 

Her eyes slipped shut, her mouth frozen open in breathless pleasure when the pace of his thrusts picked up, carving out several deep strokes that vibrated down into her bones. She grabbed onto a handful of the sheets as he tempered his passions, thrusting into her hard, but purposeful. With every controlled rock of his hips, she whimpered over the sound of their skin smacking together. His cock was hitting deep in the perfect spot, and she could feel the pleasure swelling back up like a persistent balloon. 

As the deliberate joining stretched on, his thrusts began to fracture beneath the weight of growing pleasure. He fell to his elbow over her, smothering her throat with slick kisses and hot gusts of exhilarated breath.

“Yes, yes …” She whispered against his ear, the word jarring from her throat with the persistent smack of his hips against hers. 

 His thrusts turned to sloppy rutting, hips hammering out indelicate need into her slick, aching body. Groans unraveled from his chest, his head lifting from her throat to throw back in pure open-mouthed pleasure. Clutching her hips in a bruising squeeze, he dragged her against the  swift, resolute blows of his cock until he crumbled into pleasure. He braced a hand against the headboard as his body shuddered against her, his low groans evolving to thin, whimpered gasps. 

She watched him come apart, marveling at the absolute pleasure composing itself across his once reticent features. He fell into her, panting into the crook of her neck as the tremor of his hips thrust out a few final strokes into her release filled body. She moaned quietly in response, her fingers winding through the sweat damp hair at his nape. 

Frantic need eased to static unity. Limbs entwined, they lay still with only shallow breaths inscribing conversation into the quiet air perfumed with their pleasure. She stroked his hair, focusing on the fine strands weaving through her fingers, and the butterfly soft flutter of his eyelashes against her shoulder. Her eyes pressed shut to preserve this moment; she was ready for it to slip away like everything else. 

He patted her arm, murming, “Vic.” 

She opened hers, drawing in a breath as if awakening from sleep. 

He lifted his head from her shoulder to peer at her through the darkness. She blinked up at him, suddenly aware of the tears hedging at her eyelids. 

“Hey…” He whispered, stroking the stray moisture from her cheek. “It’s okay.” 

“I know.” She choked out. “I know it is now.” 

He pressed a kiss to her mouth, and then her cheek, her temple, the damp corner of her eyelid. His breath trickled hot and sweet down her cheekbone. 

“What now?” She asked, closing her eyes despite the driving need for truth in her chest. 

“Sleep.” He replied, stroking the hair back from her ear to place another kiss against her lobe. “You need it; the doctor said it’s important for recovery.” 

“I know that, I mean-” 

She opened her eyes as the warm pressure of his mouth retreated. 

His thumb traced her cheekbone, his gaze soft with wonder. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of unanswered questions right now, but … Do we ever really know anything for sure?” 

“But I need to know.” Vic said, “For sure. I can’t keep doing this, and getting hurt. I can’t right now-” 

“Vic.” 

The somber finality in his voice stopped her. She blinked up at him, her breath shuddering in her lungs at the certainty in his eyes. 

“I do know _ this _ .” He said, clutching her cheek. “I know what you mean to me. Everything else is just circumstance.” 

“Okay.” She whispered. 

“Okay.” 

He planted another firm kiss on her mouth before leaning back. 

“Now, go ahead and get cleaned up. I meant it about you getting your sleep.” 

“Okay.” 

Vic crawled off the bed, and found her way to the bathroom in the darkness. Easing the door shut behind her, she cautiously met her gaze in the mirror. She barely recognized the gleam that nearly resembled happiness in her eyes. She scoffed out a disbelieving chuckle, and left her reflection behind to clean up. 

When she emerged from the bathroom, Walt was laying back against the pillows, gazing up at the ceiling in contemplation. She crawled under the sheets with him, and curled up against his side. 

“Still worried about the trial?” She whispered. 

“Hm? No, just thinking.” 

“About?” 

“Nothing.” He murmured, his arm tightening around her. “It’s just been awhile since I shared this bed with anyone.” 

Before she could pry for honesty, he rolled over to wrap both arms around her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Go to sleep.” 

She couldn’t argue; exhaustion was already eclipsing exhilaration. Weariness plucked at her limbs, taking her mind away on a drifting sea. The peace of sleep she’d been searching for came faster than she could recall since Chance’s escape. Morning felt light years away, the future a distant, murky concept; maybe there was just the present, and the past stretching out behind them like a river, history unfolding one yearning caress at a time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](http://clairehales.tumblr.com//)!


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